Home Is Where the Heart Is
by sameoldsinead
Summary: "Erik had spent his whole life searching for a place he could truly call home; and here, tangled up in Charles, he believed he finally found it." Starts off at the beginning of the movie, then continues afterwards. Alternate Ending. Erik/Charles XMFC
1. Chapter I

_WARNINGS for this chapter: Slightly graphic depictions of the Holocaust and torture of children. I felt kind of evil writing it..._

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><p>Erik missed his home when the cruel and menacing Nazis ushered him outside of the cramped and overcrowded cart that he had been traveling in for what seemed like days and that stenched of dead bodies. As the rusty doors slid open, several bodies dropped to the ground about a foot below the wheels. The sudden shift of weight caused him and the others to stumble forward, which made his legs ache because he had been standing still for all that time and his muscles weren't used to doing much else other than that anymore. He missed his home as they dragged him unwillingly towards one gate, and his mother was yanked towards another. He screamed as bodies piled between them, and soldiers grabbed him and pulled him farther and farther away from her. The gate between him and her screeched shut, and he screamed louder, and suddenly remembered the time he celebrated Chanukah with her-the only time he could remember being truly happy since he was about five years younger.<p>

It was so hard to be happy when he spent his days hiding in the cellar of a book store for almost two years. He and his mother had been hiding in a book store that doubled as the home of a nice blue-eyed, blonde-haired family ever since his father, a good business man from Dusseldorf, had been arrested by the Nazis on his way home from work. He had done nothing wrong.

He and his mother were forced to flee their own home after that, and nowhere had ever been quite the same. As hard as his mother tried to make him feel at home in the small, one-room cellar that had a single, weak light dangling from the ceiling that would constantly sway and create ominous shadows on the walls and in the corners whenever there was movement in the slightest upstairs, he just could not being himself to feel comfortable. Home was waiting for him back in Dusseldorf, everything exactly the way they had left it before they fled. That one Chanukah he spent in the old cellar underneath the book store was the only time he truly thought everything was going to be alright. "_Alles ist gut_," his mother said to him. That was just a month before they were caught.

He remembered the day they burst into the attic; his mother was reading a book in the rocking chair in the corner. She loved to read. He was lying on the ground not too far away, drawing a picture. He was endlessly bored, and that was about the only thing he could do in that place. All of a sudden the door burst open and shouting voices rushed down the stairs. He jumped up and backed into the corner. His mother jumped in front of him. The voices shouted at them but Erik couldn't hear what they were saying over his loud thoughts of, _Oh god oh god those are Nazis aren't they I haven't seen other people besides my mother and the nice family upstairs for years I forgot they existed what is going to happen to me?_

His mother screamed at them as they grabbed him and dragged them both upstairs-his mother was kicking and screaming and he was too shocked to struggle as he stared at the dead bodies of a blonde-haired woman and blonde-haired man staring sightlessly at the ceiling of the bookstore, blood smeared all over the floor, and their children were nowhere in sight.

He never even figured out how they found them.

Now, as he screamed for his mother at the concentration camp that they took them to (he vaguely remembered it being called Auschwitz), rage burned within him, and he felt that familiar tingle in his fingers that he always felt when something bad was about to happen. Sometimes, when he got really sad or scared, it would happen, and he wouldn't even be able to control it. It scared his mother sometimes, when the pipes would burst when he didn't get his way, or the silverware would rattle in the cabinet, but he was even more frightened of it than she was, and she would hold him and tell him to hush and that it was okay.

This time, there was no pipes or silverware. There was a high-pitched screeching noise that would hurt his ears if he wasn't already screaming too loud to hear it and the top of the gate started curling into itself and being pulled towards him. The gate groaned against the chains that were holding it shut but as Erik clenched his fingers slightly, they snapped open with ease. He heard shouting from the Nazis holding him and he suddenly pulled them all forward. This kept up for a few moments before Erik felt something cold and hard slam against the back of his head and suddenly he was on the ground. He heard his mother screaming his name as he slowly faded away…

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><p>Erik still didn't feel at home even as the strange man who called himself Schmidt offered him kindness and chocolate. He had woken up lying on the floor with a sore head. He rubbed it sourly when the man had greeted him and introduced himself. The office was so intimidating and cold, and Erik didn't like it at all. He remembered where he was and he grew even more scared. But Schmidt was very disarming and Erik found himself smiling shyly at him as he approached the desk and Schmidt sat down, saying something about evolution and other things Erik wasn't really interested in. Still, he stood stiffly because he was afraid one wrong move would send him right back outside into the rain and the scary-looking people who stared at him with hollow eyes and reached for him with bony hands.<p>

When he couldn't move the coin Schmidt placed on the desk, he found himself thinking about his home for the millionth time. Maybe if he was good then Schmidt would take him back there. He would tell the Nazis, "_This is a good boy. He doesn't belong in a prison. Get his mother and send them both back home. And search high and low until you find his father so they can finally be a family again." _

But he couldn't move the coin.

When his mother came in, it felt a little more like home but that notion was torn to shreds as they were ripped from each other, and he turned to face Schmidt. His stomach turned to ice when he saw the gun pointed towards him. He was once again instructed to move the coin, and the gun shifted from him to his mother. Erik turned to look at her desperately; she always had answers. But his mother's face was worn and tired and just as scared as he was-it wasn't right. He was always scared, and she was always brave. It just wasn't right.

"_Alles ist gut_," she promised him.

He turned around and brought both his hands up to the coin. He never felt so terrified in his life when it just sat there and didn't move _at all_.

"_Eins_."

His heart beat rapidly to _home, home, home, I want to go home, let's go home, Mater, home_.

"_Zwei_."

His mother's voice was like a mantra behind him and his fingers twisted around the coin in desperation but nothing happened. The adrenaline coursing through his body was too much and he was ready to explode. He wanted to scream, to cry, but he was focusing too hard on the coin to manage it.

"_Drei_."

He heard the gun shot and he heard the thump. It caused him to stop in his tracks. Slowly, painfully, he turned around to glance at the ground behind him.

_What is that?_

A crumpled body laid on the ground. It was still, and it was face down, and it almost looked fake.

_That is not my mother._

He wanted to laugh at it, ask it to stand up and take his hand and walk home with him. Because this was surely not home and that isn't a funny thing to do, to play dead.

_That can't be my mother._

He stared at it in disgust with only a passing glance, not really registering what had happened, before he turned back to Schmidt. He stared at him with confusion and pain, and the man just looked back at him pointedly. He looked _amused_.

And Erik felt that tingling at his fingertips again.

This time, it was stronger than ever as rage bubble inside of him, from the pit of his stomach and spread through his veins in a white hot liquid. And he continued staring at Schmidt with that look of utter loathing, still trying to process what happened.

_Stop looking at me like that, greis._

The bell on his desk, the very bell that had summoned his mother to her death, crushed itself like it was nothing more than a tin can.

"_Wunderbar_!" Schmidt exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air.

_My mother is dead!_

Full realization hit Erik and he screamed, and suddenly, for the first time ever, he felt _every single _piece of metal in the entire room, down to the tiny belt buckles on his suspenders. His eyes redirected themselves from Schmidt to a file cabinet behind him. It creaked, and suddenly the whole thing was collapsing in on itself. Schmidt turned to face it, smiling, and Erik looked back at him in rage. His gaze kept switching back and forth between them. He felt the metal hats behind him, and he crunched those, too. He vaguely heard screaming from behind him, but he couldn't tell if that was other people or himself anymore. Or both.

He turned to the terrifying room that was behind the glass next to him. There was so much metal in there. Almost everything was made out of it. Without making a move, he was tearing the whole room apart. Tables were being tipped over, drawers were flying across the room, sending papers fluttering everywhere, the lights were whipping around on their cords dangerously, desks were being torn apart, everything was being swirled around in a big mess.

"_Nein_!"

His scream died down at the same moment that the metal in the room fell into a heap on the floor. He felt Schmidt put his arm around him as he opened the door to the room, and he was speaking, but Erik barely understood him. All he could do was cry silently and think about his mother, who was right behind him, and about how much he wanted to go home.

He hardly even registered that a cold, round object had been placed into the palm of his left hand. It wasn't until Schmidt left him to his own sorrows that he turned his wrist around and realized that it was the silver coin…

* * *

><p>Erik screamed. He cried, he begged, he <em>pleaded<em>, he sobbed and vomited and lost consciousness and went into shock, but no matter what he did, nothing was as effective as simply following orders and using his powers.

"Now, little Erik Lehnsherr, all you have to do is move this tiny, little piece of metal and I'll stop my procedure right away," Schmidt promised, smiling that disarming smile of his.

Erik watched tentatively as he moved the thin and flat metal rod towards his strapped down hand, which was bonded down to the fingers, so his hand was rendered completely immobile. The rest of his body was strapped down the table as well.

Schmidt gently placed the rod underneath his middle fingernail. He squeezed his eyes shut and squirmed a bit as the man began applying pressure. He tried to focus on moving it away from him, but it became progressively harder to do that when it started to hurt. He gasped and winced at the pain, which was promoted to shouting when he felt it pierce his skin and blood leaked from underneath the nail. Schmidt kept on digging through the nail bed, and Erik screamed. It hurt so badly, he couldn't even focus on the metal anymore.

"_Bitte, bitte, bitte aufhoren! Du tust mir weh! Ich kann es nicht_!" he screamed desperately, but to no avail.

Tears streamed down his face, and the cramped cellar didn't seem like such a bad place anymore. He would much prefer to be back there than here, where there was nothing but pain and fear. He thought of home, and his mother, and he faded into darkness when both his hands were bleeding pitilessly and Schmidt had called it a day.

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><p><em>German translations:<em>

_Alles ist gut - Everything is good_  
><em>Eins, zwei, drei - One, two, three<em>  
><em>Mater - Mother<em>  
><em>Greis - Old man<em>  
><em>Wunderbar - Wonderful<em>  
><em>Nein - no<em>  
><em>Bitte, bitte, bitte aufhoren! Du tust mir weh! Ich kann es nicht! - Please, please, please stop! You're hurting me! I can't do it!<em>

_I got these translations either from the movie or from Google translate, so if there are any mistakes feel free to correct._


	2. Chapter II

_WARNINGS for this chapter: Mild references to the Holocaust and torture._

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><p>Erik Lehnsherr had been to Switzerland. He had been to France, Argentina, the United States, Poland, Ireland, Scotland, England, Norway-he had been all around the world, tracking down Schmidt. But nowhere had felt quite like Germany. Specifically, nowhere had felt quite like his small but cozy two bedroom home with his big kitchen and his two parents and his warm, familiar bed. Now that had been eighteen years ago, but its memory still burned fresh in Erik's mind. He couldn't forget his mother's warm, smiling face or the smell of her cooking or the feel of her embrace…<p>

But he forced that all into the back of his head as he surfaced from the water, a deadly gleam in his eyes. After years of searching, he finally had a location and he was prepared for success. After World War II had ended and concentration camps were brought into the public's understanding, Schmidt and countless other Nazis fled to Argentina, leaving the concentration camps and their prisoners alone. Erik was amongst those abandoned victims, left strapped to that chair he had become so acquainted with, crying and gasping and begging the silence to save him. His prayers were answered one unsuspecting day when his head swam dizzily and his concentration was fading. He felt tired, oh so tired, and he had been alone for days and it was driving him mad. He hadn't eaten or drank for that whole time, and his ribs were protruding disgustingly from his stomach. If he looked to the mirror to his right, he looked like a bloody corpse-even worse than the skeleton-people he had seen on the first day he arrived. Maybe if he just took a short nap he would feel better… it was so tempting, and his eyes drifted slowly shut…

Suddenly, voiced boomed through the door and suddenly men in intimidating uniforms burst inside, speaking a language he didn't understand.

_American soldiers_, he remembered thinking hopefully.

"Dammit, Jim, look, there's someone here!"

"Holy mother of god, he looks like he's been tortured! How long has he been here? We need to get him out of here pronto! The kid looks no older than twelve! Those Nazi bastards…"

The men unbuckled him and he slumped into their grasp. He welcomed the hasty but comforting way they had held him and the sound of their foreign voices lulled him to sleep, but they kept slapping his face lightly and shouting words he didn't understand every time he was on the brink of blissful slumber. He didn't understand, but he knew they were trying to help him so he kept his leaden eyes peeled until they loaded him onto their truck and he was brought to the nearest hospital.

In the present, he stealthily boarded the yacht with ease, slipping his knife out of its sheath, which he had wrapped around his calf. He was ready for this. He had found his creator. He had prepared, trained, calculated…

But he had not expected the girl.

That woman, dressed in all white, had seen him coming, had stood in front of Schmidt, Shaw, whatever he went by now… she had announced his intentions. How did she know? And then pain. Intense, screeching pain overtook his entire head. It made him feel as if he couldn't move, his head was splitting in two.

But he still tried. Of course he did, he needed to kill Shaw more than he needed the pain to go away. But then he was in the water, and he could barely register what had just happened, other than the fact that Shaw was still alive.

Time for Plan B.

He concentrated on his anger and felt the anchor in the water. He swiftly lifted its chains into the air with ease. He noted subconsciously as he attacked the ship with its own device that the water surrounding him was cold. It was very cold. Unlike his home, which was always warm with the oven baking or the fire glowing in the hearth. He had stayed at many hotels and some were even quite expensive (when he managed to, err… _earn_ a few dollars on the streets). But none of them had been as warm as his home. Once he killed Shaw, he was going to go back to Germany and find his old house, and perhaps live there if the memories didn't still haunt it.

* * *

><p>He was drowning. He clung desperately to the submarine that was trying to escape him-<em>but he wouldn't let it<em>. He wouldn't let Shaw get way. _Not again_.

He remembered his days back at the Resurrection Center, as the American soldiers nicknamed it. Erik never learned its real name. He remembered his bedridden days of being brought back to life with calculated increasing rations of food and blood tests and operations. It had taken months, almost a year, until he was finally able to walk again. He hated not being able to be active and once he was finally able to, he instantly began to work out overtime at the physical therapy center. The soldiers reprimanded him and patted him on the soldier teasingly when they told him to take it easy, and that he had just recovered. But he barely understood them, only speaking broken English, and snarled at them.

"_I fine_," he insisted with a heavy accent, and shrugged them off. "_Need to be strong._"

No one understood his drive to build muscle, but he worked at it everyday until he was about sixteen years old and he could finally see the clearly defined and toned muscles in his legs, arms, and abdomen. It had been quite the impressive transformation from the emaciated and pale form he had been when he arrived.

He was supposed to stay in the center until he was eighteen and old enough to fend for himself, with a little money from the government. However, he had different plans for himself. As soon as he deemed himself strong enough, he was gone, out the window overnight and into the bustling city, breathing in the fresh air and taking in the sights of the outdoors for the first real time since his father had been arrested all those years ago, at the beginning of the war…

Still under the water, attempting to catch Shaw and make him pay for all those years he lost, arms embraced him suddenly. For a moment, he thought it was his mother, or a hallucination of his mother, because his mother was dead and she could never come back, so he ignored them. But then he heard words. He thought he was going crazy, and he ignored them too, but they slowly began to push themselves to the front of his mind, no matter how hard he tried to quell them, until they were echoing throughout his entire being.

_Calm your mind, just calm your mind_, he distinctly heard before he felt himself grow tired and limp and he realized how long he had been underwater. A comfortable fuzziness settled in his mind and he allowed the gentle arms and soothing voice to drag him to the surface.

And when he reached the surface, his head got a little clearer and he began panicking, but nonetheless he stared into those blue eyes like they belonged to his savior; and maybe they did because he _did_ just save his life. And when the man, who introduced himself as Charles, spoke aloud, it was even better than inside his mind.

And he forgot all about his home and killing Shaw.

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><p>He grabbed all the files on Shaw he could find and briskly walked out the door. The faster he moved the less likely he would get caught-and, he realized in the back of his mind but refused to acknowledge, the easier it would be to leave Charles. The man had saved his life, and he treated him with the kindness given to him by his mother and father. No one had ever treated him that way since they were both still alive, not even the soldiers who saved him. They were caring and nice, but they were also brusque and burly soldiers. They were not as gentle and loving as his parents were, or Charles currently was. He would miss that.<p>

But, of course, Charles was waiting for him outside. He knew Erik was coming, and he knew what he was doing long before Erik even started, probably.

"Knowing you, I'm surprised you stayed this long," he said, like he knew him his entire life. It was probably close enough.

"What do you know about me?" Erik snapped, knowing the answer already. He didn't need to be a telepath to figure that one out.

"Everything," Charles affirmed.

And no matter what Charles said after that, Erik was already rooted to him. Maybe the telepath had altered his mind, to make him crazy and committal like this. But with little goading at all, he was there the next day, standing at the doorway with Charles sitting a few feet away from him, staring at him with that expression of _reliefjoyshockprideconfusion_ that he couldn't quite pin down, but it made him feel good. He looked back blankly, but his mirroring emotions were probably so strong that they were easily picked up by the telepath.

Maybe _this_ could be his new home.


	3. Chapter III

He was in the car with Charles, driving cross-country to recruit mutants to join their team. Charles had called it the "mutant division of the CIA." Erik wasn't sure how he felt about this, knowing how he had been treated once he was revealed to be a mutant. But the way Charles sided with him about finding the mutants alone, and the way he was so charmingly persuasive, and the way he made Erik feel like he knew him all his life when they had only just met, made Erik blindly follow him like he never allowed himself to before. And even though every night they stayed in a different hotel, and even though they had not slowed down for a second since their trip began, Erik felt more at home than he ever had before in his entire life.

Charles was sitting behind the wheel with his eyes focused intently on the expanse of road before him, since he was a great driver, and Erik, who had never really learned, was sitting shot gun, reclined back slightly with his feet kicked up on the dashboard, and Charles was droning on about genetics and other boring facts that always put everyone to sleep as soon as he opened his mouth. But Erik didn't listen to the words and instead focused on the sound of his voice, and how soothing it was, and how it reminded him of the day they met, and how Charles was the only one who could calm him down. They both had been through so much together in the seven weeks they had been traveling. They had met so many people, and it inspired them both. They met fellow mutants in the most unlikely places: from strip clubs to taxi cabs and even prison-Erik had always thought he had been alone before he met Charles. He smiled faintly whenever he remembered the first mutant they found on their long journey across the United States. It was that half-naked girl with the wings. It wasn't so much finding her that made him smile-although he did admit it made him particularly giddy to find that their first recruit was a success-but what made him truly happy was the closeness of him and Charles when they sat on the bed together. Their shoulders down to their elbows were touching and maybe it was his imagination, but Charles was leaning into him slightly. And it was just so _comfortable_. Erik never let anyone get that close to him. He had a very thin patience and he hated it when people tried to get on his good side, because he didn't have one. He never let anyone touch him, and he never let anyone see him smile.

Except Charles. For some reason, he didn't mind Charles' weight against him or his comfortable silence or his brilliant smile that always made Erik reciprocate ten fold. It confused him to no end, and he would spend sleepless nights staring at the ceiling in the two-bed hotel rooms they would share together, trying to piece together his new and strange emotions.

"Erik?"

"What?" Erik turned to Charles and realized he had been lost in thought.

"Do you want to pull over to eat at the next restaurant? It's getting pretty late."

Erik glanced at the time, and sure enough it was past seven o'clock. He nodded quietly and Charles pulled into a fast food restaurant.

"There's an aquarium next door," he noted as they hopped out of the car and headed inside. "I think we should check it out after we grab our meals, if you know what I mean."

* * *

><p>Erik sat impatiently in the back of the large truck, seated beside Charles with about a dozen armed soldiers sitting near them. They were in Russia, where Shaw was supposed to be. Erik grinded his jaw in anticipation, and Charles had to send him a mental suggestion to settle down.<p>

The small compartment to the front slid open and Moira peeked her head through.

"I'm so sorry, this wasn't on the maps," she apologized, and he saw through the window behind her a blockade on the road with Russian soldiers stationed ready for interrogation.

Charles told her to relax and that he would handle it. The compartment slid closed and he stood bravely, instructing the soldiers to be ready but to be quiet, and there was a stifling stillness in the back of the car as they heard menacing dogs bark outside and Russians shouting orders, and Erik felt sweat drip down his neck.

The doors were flown open, and the soldiers raised their weapons, but Charles had his fingers to his temple and he was staring at the Russian soldier with such intense concentration that Erik gaped at him in admiration.

A few words were exchanged in Russian before the doors were closed again, and just as soon as the were Charles dropped tiredly back onto his seat next to Erik, and Erik gave his leg a appreciative pat. It gave his hand an electric feeling that shot straight up to his heart, but it was different than his familiar reaction to metal.

* * *

><p>Their director was dead. That was what they got back from Russia to hear. Moira had cried, and Raven had hugged her and comforted her. Charles looked miserable too, and Erik wanted to comfort him but he didn't know how.<p>

Now, sitting in the rubble of their old headquarters, Erik felt homeless once again. They needed a new place to stay. He kicked a rock pointlessly. All the body bags being dragged out of the ruins only reminded him of the Holocaust and when the soldiers dragged the dead bodies out into the ditches where they were to rot in a mass grave of nameless, hollow corpses or burned in a collective fire that smelled putridly of burning flesh and hair. He swallowed back his emotions and looked away discreetly, but not away from the all-knowing glance of Charles Xavier.

They all discussed their next move in sordid conversation. No one was quite willing to talk about the future when it was cut short for many others who they had met and just started to get to know-including that of one very young and bright-eyed mutant, Darwin. He and Charles had gone to Russia immediately after recruiting, so they never really got to know him. However, Erik knew Shaw killed him-the same man that tortured him for years, whom he hated with all his heart and soul. And, really, Erik could always use another tally against him. So he absorbed this new information with a calm exterior, even when Charles insisted that the kids should be pulled out of their mission.

"They're just kids," he pleaded.

"They _were_ kids," Erik corrected.

* * *

><p>"Well, it's not much, but it's home," Charles joked to the group of mutants ready for training behind him.<p>

Erik gaped at the overwhelming edifice looming above him, like an impossibly elaborate palace. Living simplistically his whole life, he didn't even know easy-living like this existed in the real world. Charles, his dear, sweet Charles, was quite the spoiled child. He found that amusing in a rather dry way.

"How did you ever manage to live in such hardship?" Erik smiled for the first time in a while and glanced over at his friend. He smiled back for a brief moment before Raven stepped in, between them, and Erik felt a flash of anger and jealousy as she wrapped her arms possessively around Charles, before he quickly dispelled it, and before it became too strong for Charles to pick up the emotion by accident.

"Well, it was a hardship softened by _me_," she explained smugly, staring at Erik-almost _challengingly_-as Charles placed a kiss on her beautiful blonde hair.

Erik narrowed his eyes and shook his head as the two stepped forward and herded the group into the mansion, and Raven mentioned something about a tour. Of course he had imagined the threatening look in Raven's eyes. She was Charles only friend. _Friend. _Charles never really had any friends besides her because his telepathy and sheer brilliance had made him quite the boring conversationalist. Even his cheesy genetic pick-up lines could only woo a girl for so long, which is why one-night stands were the most action he ever got. She probably just felt threatened by this new friend entering Charles' life-one that showed no sign of abandoning him due to his overly active brainwaves.

He tried to convince himself it was that, and only that, and not because she had seen the way Erik stares at Charles when he thinks no one is looking, or the way he blushes every time they accidentally touch, just like a goddamn school girl…

* * *

><p>He watched Charles in admiration as he trained all the recruits. He was a natural at it, or, at least, he was a natural at reading minds and deciphering people's full capabilities and most efficient learning techniques. Oftentimes Erik would join him and just stand back to watch in awe as Charles instructed his recruits how to control their own powers. Erik was just so struck by how they listened to him and trusted him so easily, and the results that he received in return. Erik was glad these young, carefree children got a better environment to learn in than he did-in the hands of gentle, harmless, endearing Charles Xavier-but he would never let that be known to anyone else.<p>

And so when Charles approached him one day to be trained, he was thoroughly surprised.

"_Me?" _he had laughed, "I'm not one of your students. I'm already trained."

"But, my friend, I see so much more potential in you, come, practice with me."

Erik snorted and ruffled his paper pointedly.

"Oh, come on! We can just go for a jog. I could use the exercise, and you might not, but it's always better with a partner."

Erik clenched his jaw, "Sorry, I work alone."

Charles sighed, exasperated, and slumped down in the chair opposite of Erik.

"Well, it's either jogging or training, your choice."

Erik glared up at him comically from the top of his newspaper.

"How about staying here and reading the news?" he suggested.

"Reading was never an option," Charles crinkled his nose so cutely that it was almost unbearable and he leaned his face so close to Erik's, _so close_, that he stopped breathing for a moment, and then Charles' face was gone, and in it's place was a hand, Charles' hand, and Erik stared at it blankly.

"Come with me," Charles prompted, and Erik took it and was pulled upward, and he wondered if Charles ever used his powers of persuasion on him, because it was just way too easy to get Erik to follow his every whim.

* * *

><p>"See that satellite dish?" Charles asked when they were outside, after a failed attempt on Erik's part at showing off to Charles that he was virtually bulletproof. "Move it."<p>

Well, there goes Erik's opportunity to show off. He couldn't move it, it was too large, and he wasn't angry enough. He couldn't be that angry, not ever with _Charles_ around. Honestly, Erik was becoming such a pansy.

But Charles would have none of that. Of course Charles believed there was good in everyone; he was such a hopeless optimist. Even against the odds, even in pathetic cases such as Erik Lehnsherr, he still believed there was redemption.

"Would you mind if I…" Charles asked, no more words necessary when he brought his hand up close to his temple and wiggled his fingers. Erik nodded because, really, it was impossible to say no to Charles.

He really _should_ have said no, in all honesty. He shouldn't have openly invited Charles into the deepest depths of his mind. He felt him, he actually _felt_ him inside of his brain, searching, maneuvering, reaching, and grasping. He felt Charles' consciousness latch on to a warm light that he felt seeping through his cloudy memories. And suddenly, it was pulled forth, brought to the top of his mind for the first time in decades, reminding him of that same Chanukah he hadn't looked back at since he was first brought to Auschwitz, since his mother died, since he had lost all hopes of ever returning home…

_Home._

He had almost forgotten about home. About what he was working towards: to build a home for himself, for all mutants, so that none may ever feel as lonely and restless and he did ever again. He couldn't believe he had almost let go of that memory of happiness, fulfillment, and _belonging_.

"_What did you do to me?" _Erik demanded, vaguely realizing that he was crying. In front of Charles. By _God, _what has that telepath turned him into?

"I accessed the brightest corner of your memory system," Charles explained, crying himself. He wiped a tear from his eyes. "It's a very beautiful memory, Erik. Thank you."

"I didn't know I still had that," Erik admitted truthfully.

"There is so much more to you than you know," Charles informed him cryptically. He walked up to the balcony he was standing on. "Not just pain and anger. There is good, too. I felt it."

Erik huffed at that. Monsters have no good in them. Shaw had broken it all out of him years ago.

"When you can access all of that, you will possess a power no one can match. Not even me."

Erik inhaled sharply. The look Charles gave him was intoxicating. He raised his eyebrow, and looked pointedly back at the satellite. Erik knew what he had to do. The tingle in his fingers that he had stopped feeling ever since he got a better grasp on his powers was back, and it was stronger than ever. He turned towards the huge metal plate with determination flashing in his eyes.

He raised his arms. He could _feel _the magnetic force radiating between himself and the satellite, and the strangest sensation he had ever felt coursed through his body. He was still crying, but that hardly mattered, so was Charles, and neither men acknowledged nor even cared about it at this point. This was raw emotion. This was two minds depending on each other. This was history in the making. And the dish slowly but steadily turned to face him.

Erik felt the smile stretch across his face before the feeling of complete happiness tugged his whole body into a numb disbelief. He moved a _satellite_. He _moved_ a satellite. _He moved a satellite. _No matter how he said it, it didn't sound real. He laughed at the incredulity of it all, and Charles patted him on the back, and he looked up to him to smile at him, because, really, he couldn't have done it without him. He was his rock. He was his confidante. He was…

So, _so_ beautiful.

* * *

><p><em>Yes, I did just blatantly copy Erik's "Peace was never an option," during a part of the movie where it didn't even happen yet. Shh... <em>


	4. Chapter IV

Charles moved his knight forward and knocked Erik's pawn off the board. Erik wondered briefly if Charles ever cheated during chess by reading his opponent's mind, but that wasn't the important matter at hand.

Tomorrow, they were to fly to Cuba to avert a missile crisis caused by Shaw and save the world. It sounded utterly ridiculous, no matter how it was worded. Erik could laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, but that was decidedly out of place, and he remained silent.

He moved his bishop thoughtlessly, and it was Charles' move again. They were discussing the events that clouded Erik's mind. He always hated it, the silence before the storm. He hated not knowing: what Shaw had in store for him, if he would survive, if mutant-kind would be revealed to the world, what the reaction to this superior species would be…

If _Charles_ would survive.

Erik shivered and pushed the thought to the back of his mind. He couldn't stand not knowing that. He knew very well there was a high risk of dying on their mission. Averting nuclear war is no easy task, and chances of survival are minimal. Erik just hoped that the only person that would die tomorrow is Sebastian Shaw. He knows that killing Shaw will not bring his mother back, will not make the gap in his heart feel whole again, and will not fill him with happiness. But he needs to do it anyways. The reason is inexplicable; it is just fact. Erik can't stand to live while he still survives. He can't stand to think of anyone else falling victim to that man again. Especially Charles. He is so petrified of Charles being the next "project" of Shaw that he thinks he must kill him as soon as possible. It's not even for him anymore, it's for the future captives.

"Killing Shaw will not bring you peace," Charles finishes, just as Erik zones back into the conversation.

Peace. _Peace. _Like that was what he was looking for. No, he _knows_ he will never find that. That hardly matters to him anymore. He has learned to live without it.

"Peace was never an option."

* * *

><p>They were all sitting in the plane designed by Hank, or Beast, as they referred to him as now, heading for their imminent doom. Erik felt like a damn kamikaze waiting to die, clutching his knees and sitting straight up in anticipation, wearing the ridiculous matching outfits that Hank-Beast-also designed for them.<p>

Charles sat across from him, looking no more at ease, fingers to his temple in an attempt to detect the minds of the close-by soldiers. Raven was sitting next to him, a radiance of red and blue-natural and beautiful.

Erik angrily blushed at the memory of that night, just a few days ago… it had all felt like the right idea at the time. They were both caught in their whirlwind of confusing emotions towards but not reciprocated by Charles, and they understood each other, and they both knew what to say to each other, and it was just so _easy_. In the heat of the moment, under the covers, they both shamefully released their pent-up emotions to each other. Erik, guiltily, imagined Charles there instead, and he was relatively positive Raven did the same. It was difficult for the both of them. Charles being Raven's step-brother, and Erik was acutely aware of the fact that he was a man. A _man_. Erik was _very_ shamefully aware of that, and he hated himself inside for it. But he hid this shame and hatred and _adoration_ all at the pit of his mind, where it was too deep to ever be recovered by Charles unless he tried, which he knew the telepath was too afraid to do, in order to keep the trust he had gained.

Raven had confronted him later that what had been done was a mistake, and she realized that. She told him to forget that it had ever happened, a cold detachment in her eyes, like she had already forgotten herself. He was pretty sure something had happened between her and Charles as well, because they had refused to speak to each since then.

* * *

><p>Everything was going to hell.<p>

Sean-Banshee-had become a human sonar system and located Shaw, at least, hopefully he did. The plane almost got blown up under Charles' own command, Erik had lifted an entire _submarine_ out of the water and _dragged_ it to shore, their plane was literally blown out of the air by a silly-looking Spanish man in a purple suit, and two major nations were a breath away from engaging in nuclear war.

It was hard to imagine that things could get any worse. But, of course, Erik had spoken too soon.

He entered the submarine easily, getting sweet payback on that silly Spanish man who had almost killed him, and more importantly, Charles. He had deserved to get crushed up against the side of the wrecked submarine by a large piece of metal.

Erik was just lucky enough to survive the whirlwind that man had created when they were still in the plane by grabbing on to Charles' steady grip and being pulled into the plane. It could have been a disaster. Neither of them had seatbelts, and Erik swore his heart jumped into his throat when the plane started spinning out of control and he saw Charles begin to slip away from the floor that was quickly becoming the ceiling. Time moved in slow motion when he once again found that perfect spot between rage and serenity-that point between his hatred towards Charles for loving him so inexplicably much and the bliss and warmth that he encompassed him in whenever he was around-and he jumped over Charles at the same time as gripping the floor-wall-ceiling with his magnetic force and they were spinning. Spinning and screaming and Charles gripped his wrists for dear life as he tumbled underneath him. Erik felt him pressing against him and almost slip through his arms but then he held tighter, and he was safe, and the spinning had stopped and they were still on the ceiling. Erik slowly lowered them, groaning, and it hurt a little when they finally touched the ground, like recovering from whiplash. And Charles was lying on top of his stomach, and the weight kind of felt good, and then he immediately raised himself, and Erik noted the cold feeling he left in his wake before he realized that, _wait, _they're in a the middle of a war zone and its no time to be thinking about petty feelings.

So, yes, Erik concluding, coughing in slight embarrassment at how distracted he got in his own mind, he definitely deserved it.

He just hoped Charles wasn't reading his thoughts as he was barking orders at him through their telepathic link as he searched for Shaw in the submarine. He swallowed that thought down and entered the room Charles figured he would be in, after promptly shutting down the nuclear power. Erik's stomach was in knots as he frantically looked around, and no one was there.

"He's not here, he's not here!""What do you mean he's not there? He _has_ to be there, there's no where else he _could_ be!"

"Well I'm saying he's not here _goddammit!" _

"Little Erik Lehnsherr…"

Erik froze when he heard the familiar voice behind him that was not Charles.

"He's here."

He heard Charles start to yell out to him, trying to stop him from what he knew he was going to do, but Erik ignored him as he stepped forward. In the back of his mind he was sad that he was betraying Charles, but the front of his mind was filled with hatred and bloodlust and revenge. So much so that it clouded out the part of him that realized he might just be falling in love with Charles, and this was why he realized he could never be with him, even if Charles did have feelings for him back, because he was too selfish and tainted to ever deserve the love of someone so selfless and perfect.

_Herr Doktor, I will kill you._

He fingered the coin in his pocket, the one he had been keeping for eighteen years, and laughed at the irony of it all.

Then he stepped into the void and heard the doors slide shut behind him, at the same time as Charles' screaming voice fading from his head, and he knew there was no turning back.


	5. Chapter V

_I changed the chapters titles to Roman Numerals instead because... hush, because I can. I just like Roman Numerals, okay!_

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><p><em>He did it.<em>

Even as he said the words to himself, he still didn't believe them. There was Shaw, _dead_, lying in a crumpled heap on the ground, the coin-sized slit in his head gushing with blood.

If he still felt human at this point, he might have vomited at the sight. But he no longer felt human, not with the familiar feeling of Charles gone from the back of his head, and not with the emptiness he currently felt inside.

Charles warned him that this would happen.

And vaguely, Erik saw it coming. He knew that once Shaw was dead, he would still not feel better, but he just hated Shaw so much that he didn't care. He just needed to die. What he hadn't been expecting was the feeling of loss, like a part of him died as well. Shaw was not dear to him in the slightest, and this wasn't his first kill either, so it would have been inexplicable except…

_I hope Charles is okay…_

Even as he wrapped metal around Shaw and levitated him in the air, he was still thinking about Charles, and how he never stepped out of Shaw's mind, even as Erik pushed death upon him. He could have easily left Shaw and let him come back to life, doing what he will to Erik. But he hadn't. And, in doing that, he shared some of the guilt, some of the blame.

They had the same blood on their hands.

He knew that was the emptiness he felt. Charles wasn't going to forgive him, he just couldn't do it with that damned righteous heart of his. He was always on a mission to see the good in people and _this_, this was unacceptable.

He just hoped Charles didn't suffer for what _he_ did.

But he swallowed back the part of him that knew he did.

He emerged from the submarine, in all his demented glory. Shaw hovered in front of him like a twisted crucifix, and by withdrawing his hand, Erik caused him to tumble to the sand, landing with a thump that resonated in everyone's ears.

Everyone was staring. Everyone was there. Mystique, Beast, Havok, Banshee… even the enemies were staring at him in awe. His eyes scanned the wreckage for any signs of Charles, and Moira at that, as he lowered himself gently onto the beach with his powers. He could not see them, and he began to panic, even as his exterior calmly but brutally gave a speech about the evils of mankind or whatever else his mind decided to spit out at everyone, as his heart was elsewhere.

Finally, to his relief, Charles and Moira slowly climbed out of the wreckage of the plane, alive and unscathed, and Erik let out a silent breath. Outwardly, however, his speech continued on, even as he noticed with a bit of heartbreak Charles stumble and clutch his head, while Moira reached out for him and held him, in the way Erik never could…

"I can feel their guns from across the water," Erik continued on, his burning hatred for everything in the world growing the more he realized he lost Charles forever, with one stupid mistake, one stupid helmet, and one stupid coin. That was all it took, wasn't it? But he saw it coming, he asked for it, and he deserved it.

* * *

><p>Charles slammed into him with unexpected force, screaming at the top of his lungs for him to stop. And then they were both on the ground, fighting, and Erik never wanted this to happen, but he kept a steady hand focused on the missiles nonetheless, because he already lost everything, so why not some more? Charles hated him. He had to. He had hurt him, betrayed him, and now this. Charles clawed desperately at Erik's helmet, but he straddled him and kept him on the ground, and his head just out of the smaller man's reach. The others started to rush forward, but he yelled at them to get out of the way, and with one swift thrust of his arm, they were all rearing backwards.<p>

"Charles, I don't want to hurt you!"

And he didn't.

He really, _really_ didn't.

But Charles was so frustratingly persistent and he struggled too much and Erik was just trying to _focus_. He didn't mean it, _he really didn't_, but the telepath was so close to getting his helmet off, and he was so terrified, suddenly so afraid of Charles entering his mind, of possibly seeing the feelings that were now at the surface of his brain instead of bottled up as they usually were-and he couldn't choke them down this time. And he was so terrified of what would happen next, of spending the rest of his life alone, of what Charles would do if he took the helmet off, of thinking about his disappointed face, or Mystique's, or Beast's, or Havok's, or Banshee's…

And he couldn't take it, so he just lost it.

And he punched him.

He punched Charles square in the jaw. The force behind it caused him to fall back to the ground, grunting in pain, and it was the sorriest sound Erik had ever heard. Or maybe that was just him being biased. He knew if the coin hadn't done it, that had definitely sealed the deal. What else could he possibly do to make matters worse?

Oh, but he had_ no_ idea.

He stood up while Charles was still in shock from the blow, and focused all his attention on the missiles that had started to waver in the air. His hand was up and they were zooming forward again, at rapid speed. He heard the sound of a gunshot, and he turned to see Moira taking aim at him, ready to fire again.

He almost smirked at her naivety. He easily curved her bullet, out of his way. This went on a few more times, and he deflected every shot with ease, still keeping perfect control of the missiles in the sky.

The sound he heard after deflecting the last bullet was something in between a deafening crack and the sound of his soul dying. He turned around quickly to confirm his worst fears: Charles was standing up, but quickly falling. His head was thrown back in immense pain, and his hand clutched the base of his spine.

And in an instant, he was by his side, pulling him into his arms, and he swatted Charles' hand away, reaching for the bullet…

And it came out clean. It never even really penetrated the suit, which was designed by Beast to be bulletproof. The impact, however, amplified tenfold by Erik, was powerful.

Charles gasped and choked and sputtered. He looked on the verge of tears, but he held them back for the meantime, eyes wide in pain and confusion.

The rest, seeing what had happened, rushed forward to help their wounded friend. But Erik was on the edge, he was losing it, and he didn't want anyone else near his Charles, or near himself, because he hated himself too much right now.

"I said _get back!" _he shouted, flinging them across the beach once again, and Moira tentatively approached them. Erik glared at her with deadly eyes.

"_You," _he accused. "_You_ did this."

His hand raised and all of a sudden her dog tags were wrapped tightly around her neck. She instinctively grabbed for them, but upon finding them relentless in their choke-hold, a moment of confusion passed over her face before she realized the severity of her situation, and she began to panic. She clawed at the tight metal, but to no avail. She was dying.

"S- she didn't do this, Erik," Charles spoke from below him, finally finding his voice, "Y… you did."

And he let go, pain stinging ever fiber of his being at the acidic truth, and Moira fell, gasping for breath. He placed his hand on Charles' chest, lovingly, and he hoped he didn't mind. Tears were in his eyes now. Erik hated seeing him cry. He hated _being the person _that made him cry.

And he couldn't stay anymore.

They exchanged a few more words, but he knew it was over. And he kept his helmet on. After the pain of the inevitable was too much for him to bear, after Charles had said all that he could say, after Erik noticed how _painfully still _his legs were, he could take no more. He signaled to Moira, who, gasping apology after apology, took Charles in her arms as Erik sat up, ignoring the sting in his heart at her close proximity to the man he would never forget. He gave one more stupid speech before ushering Mystique towards him, who, surprisingly, joined him. He felt the glint in her eyes as he stared at her, saying _forgetforgetforget_ without saying anything at all, but she joined him nonetheless. She had to. They were both broken: dying over their love for Charles. Mystique probably could have stayed. If she wanted to, she could have not moved a muscle and Charles would still love her; it was Erik that could not be forgiven. But he knew she did not feel welcome here anymore. Not after everything that had happened. And he knew that despite their closeness, she and Charles fought a lot more than either of them would have liked. They were just too different. Just like she and Erik were too similar.


	6. Chapter VI

_Thank you for all the lovely comments you all have been leaving so far! I appreciate every single one of them, and I get really happy when I see a new one! (: _

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><p>"<em>He left quite a gap in my life, if I'm too be honest."<em>

If Erik was too be honest…

"_I was rather hoping you would fill it."_

No one would ever be able do that.

He punched a hole in the wall. Perhaps a tad excessive, but he blamed it on the helmet and how frustratingly heavy it was getting on his head, or how aggravatingly it obliterated his peripheral vision, or how painstakingly itchy he realized his scalp _always_ was now that he was too paranoid to _ever _take it off. Even though Frost promised him protection as long as he stayed near her, he couldn't trust her. He couldn't trust anyone anymore, not even Charles. Which was the reason he was wearing this ridiculous helmet.

He knew deep down it was his fault that he lost Charles' trust in the first place, but that was pushed away to the back of his mind, right behind the spot that was always Charles, nothing but Charles, all the time, for the rest of his life…

Erik didn't want to admit that he was feeling anything but fierce determination, so he used the helmet as a lifeline, to protect himself from something more than mere mind-reading.

He was protecting himself from the truth.

And it scared him, sometimes, when he thought of the long years ahead, wearing this helmet until the day he dies, always paranoid, always empty inside…

It _hurts._

It hurts more than he thought emotions could hurt. He is only too aware of the body's capacity for pain. He learned at a young age that the human body is prone to the most unbelievable pain imaginable. He has felt it himself, for years, under the hands of _Dr. Klaus Schmidt_. What he hadn't realized was the _mind's _capacity for _emotional_ pain. He thought he couldn't possibly hurt more inside than how much the death of his mother hurt him. Even after all these years, he still felt the sting in his heart forever in the background where she used to breathe life into, before her breath was snatched away. Now, it felt as if there was a twin pain next to it, where he had lost his young students: those bright-eyed, innocent kids who looked up to him, and he had let them down, and where he had lost _Charles_. Charles' gap felt more like a searing fire, and it was slowly catching, and causing his whole being to burn in the flames.

He wasn't sure how much more of this he could handle.

* * *

><p>It was actually <em>too difficult <em>to get up in the morning. That feeling was so _foreign _to him. He has always had a goal. He always had a reason to want to get up-to get up _early_, even. All his life, he's been fighting the odds, going against the grain, and proving he could beat life at its own game. He has always woken up saying to himself, _"You are going to kill Shaw." _Always. Now that he was gone, Erik found himself not quite sure what to do. He had found his new goal, _"You are going to make mutants the supreme life form on the planet," _but it didn't sit well. Not anymore. Not when Charles didn't follow him, like he always had… right at his heels. Or was it the other way around? Erik felt like a small, scared animal admitting it even to himself, but without Charles by his side, he was suddenly realizing how chillingly _alone_ he's been all his life.

* * *

><p>"Boss, there's… something I need to tell you."<p>

Emma bit her lip. Erik stared at her nonchalantly but inside his stomach curled at the face she was making. She looked like she was debating whether or not she should say what she knew. There was fear and worry in her eyes. And, maybe, just a bit of… _pity?_

"What is it, Frost?"

His assistant was not the type to be uncertain, so he _really _began to panic when she seemed to search for the right words to say.

"Xavier and I… had a… _meeting_, if you will… a _telepathic_ meeting… just the other day…"

Erik's heart dropped at the sound of Charles' surname. To be honest, he was a bit _relieved_ to hear that Emma had contacted him as well. He hadn't so much as _heard_ of Charles since he left, those many weeks ago, and the possibility of him not being alive had been gnawing at his brain since then.

"Yes?"

"And we sort of _talked_ about the state of things, settled on being as diplomatic as possible, you know, the sort of things you would expect out of that man. He's _very _pacifistic about it all…"

She paused for a second, gathering her thoughts. She seemed to gaze at Erik for a few seconds, eyes penetrating him but he knew she couldn't see his thoughts behind his helmet, and he thanked God for that. After a few moments, she sighed, and closed her eyes.

"Afterwards, he really just wanted to know about you and Mystique. He asked if you two were doing fine, if you were showing any signs of coming back… he sounded like he missed you, you know…"

Erik felt like he had been winded, but he tried not to let it show.

"And then I asked about him."

Erik held his breath. This is what he has been curious about for the past six weeks, but he had been too afraid to find out, and quite frankly unsure _how_ to find out. The way he left Charles was… in quite a mess. He was shot, possibly dying, stranded on a beach, nearby soldiers who wished to kill him… it wasn't good. Erik sometimes sat in bed for hours wondering if they even managed to make it off the island. He couldn't even imagine how. But in the end it pained him too much to think of for extensive periods of time, and he shielded himself from his own thoughts by attempting to control his power more and more… he was getting better…

"What did he say?"

Emma shifted her eyes.

"Well, he was in a good mood. He laughed a lot; he wasn't bitter at all… You could take a few leaves from his book, Boss…"

"_Frost,_" Erik threatened, eyes steely and firm, his teeth clenched at her poor attempt at a diversion. He gripped the edges of the chair he was sitting in so tight his knuckles were turning white. His whole body leaned forward menacingly. "_What did he say?_"

"Well, Boss, he's paralyzed."


	7. Chapter VII

Erik's chest constricted. _Paralyzed? _He had thought he said it, but apparently he didn't. He licked his lips, slowly, registering what he had just heard, but it was too difficult. _Paralyzed, Charles?_ He tried to picture it, tried to envision Charles sitting in a wheelchair, his legs limp, face still smiling…

"Does Mystique know?" he croaked.

Emma shook her head, "Not yet."

"You should tell her," Erik coughed, lowering his head. He didn't want his assistant to see the pain in his eyes.

There was a silence, in which Erik guessed Emma had nodded, and soon enough he heard the _click, click, click _of her heels reverberating off the walls of the room, and then the door closed behind her and she was gone.

Erik heaved out a gut-wrenched sob, one that he felt as if he'd been holding inside him forever. He bit his knuckle to try to keep from making noise, but that didn't quell the sharp breaths that were suddenly eliciting themselves from the depths of his throat. His face was soaked in tears without him noticing, or caring, and he never wanted to take the helmet off more than he did now.

_Charles, oh Charles…_

He heard the piercing screams from down the hall, the most pained noises he had ever heard in his entire life, and he knew that Mystique had been told.

"_NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! LIAR! LIAR! NOOOOOOO!"_

He knew she still felt guilty about leaving her step-brother. They had never really resolved their argument, other than the short understanding they had on the beach before Erik whisked her away forever. He knew there was still so much more she wanted to say to him, and he felt her guilt weighing upon his as well.

"_YOU'RE LYING TO ME! TAKE IT BACK! DON'T EVEN JOKE ABOUT THAT, YOU BITCH! I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU ALL! DON'T SAY THAT ABOUT CHARLES. HE'S FINE! He's fine…"_

Her screams died down into sobs.

Erik can only imagine what her reaction would have been if the situation had been death…

He wondered which was worse.

_Oh Charles, Charles… what have I done to you?_

* * *

><p>It seemed an eternity had passed since he had first discovered of Charles' new-found disability, when in reality it had only been a week. He made sure Emma kept frequent telepathic updates on him, but he cautioned her to sift through Charles' mind undetected, hard as that might be against such a high-ranking telepath. However, Emma merely nodded, accepting the task with patience, and gave him almost daily updates of his old friend's state since he first issued his order.<p>

So far, Charles was fresh out of the hospital. He had left only days before his first approach with Emma, and he was currently seeking physical therapy with the strong support of his friends, despite how much he loathed it. He was grinning through it all, however, so much stronger than Erik could ever be…

The psychic reports remained mostly the same; Charles' life was forming a routine. Erik remembered how Charles always hated routines. It surprised him, because super-intelligent-Oxford-scholarship-genetics-major kinds of people always struck him as boring and routine. Then he met Charles: unpredictable, fun-loving, almost always wasted, king of the one-night stands _Charles_, and suddenly he wasn't quite sure what to expect anymore. It just wasn't possible for someone to be that perfect.

And apparently the world agreed, because Charles' life was toyed with by the strings of fate more than anyone else he had ever previously encountered. From what he learned from Charles on those late nights playing chess (drowsiness causing Charles to fall victim to slipping secrets about his past, becoming more open, which contrary to popular believe, he most certainly is not) his life was far from simple. His mother, as Erik took it, although Charles never verbally admitted it, was abusive. Not in the typical, physical way that people typically linked to abuse; but the neglectful, biting way that could emotionally scar people and leave them making the same decisions as Charles did every night: getting completely smashed and smooth-talking some girl into coming home with him. He craved love.

Charles would tell Erik in his tired hazes, with a laugh, that sometimes his mother would leave for entire weekends without telling him, and he would be left alone in the house in a panic, demanding the maid to tell him where she was. Sometimes, the maid wouldn't even be there, and Charles would all but starve until someone remembered that he was still at the house. Which usually wasn't until his mother finally came back late at night, laughing loudly on her phone, and Charles would run up to her and hug her legs tightly, tears pouring off his face, and she would be in complete shock, and pet his head stiffly, and tell her friend she'll call her back later, and then apologize to Charles in that awkward way that sounded like she wasn't exactly sure how to talk to children.

Sometimes she would make comments that made Charles feel like two cents. She would say something like, "Honestly, Charles, it's no wonder you have no friends," or "Shut up, Charlie-dear, Mummy's on the phone," or "Charles, you're embarrassing me."

But it wasn't even these comments that set Charles off the most. No, it was her _thoughts_ that kept him awake all night, pondering whether or not she even loved him. It took him a while to realize the condescending voices he heard weren't in his head, and that they were actually in _her_ head, being projected into his. The day he first realized it, he had been in Church. His mother used to like to pretend like she cared about some Higher Being or anything other than herself, for that matter, and she used to take Charles with her to show off about how righteous and holy her family was or something like that. Once he realized what was happening, he began to cry, and his mother chastised him: "Honestly, Charles, you're twelve years old. You're way too old to be blubbering like a baby for no reason. Now pull yourself together, you're embarrassing Mummy." And a firm pinch to the back of his arm silenced his tears, but not his brooding thoughts. Nor hers, either. All throughout the Mass, Charles heard her grumbling thoughts of, _Oh Lord, what am I going to do with this kid? I should have never had children… so much trouble… not worth the effort… wish his father was still here so I could just leave him with him…_

And Charles was never quite the same, not even when Raven entered his life but a few weeks later, after he learned that not only could he hear _other _people's thoughts, but he could make them hear _his _too.

All this Erik took in silently, and maybe Charles thought he had forgotten. But he most certainly remembered, and he hated to admit it to himself that he is no better than Mrs. Xavier, adding another scar to Charles' already damaged heart.

* * *

><p>Erik returned home after a particularly exhausting day of diplomatically discussing mutant-rights with the CIA. And by <em>diplomatically discussing<em> he meant _tearing down the walls of their establishment and demanding that if demands weren't met in so-and-so amount of time, there was going to be hell to pay_.

It was his initiation, sort of, as Magneto. It was his first public action against the government, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. Emma had promised Charles they would be peaceful, and he had already broken that promise. Exactly why he didn't deserve Charles. He hadn't so much as seen Charles in two months, and he could still clearly see his face in his mind's eye. He could already picture Charles' disappointed expression at the news of what Erik had done. He was pretty sure some people may have died in his show of powers, and Charles would most certainly despair over that, like it was his fault. And Erik didn't want that.

Sighing in self-pity and weariness, Erik collapsed on the slightly lumpy bed of the motel he was staying in. One would expect him to live somewhere with more grandeur, but for now he and his followers had to settle on sleeping in cheap highway-side motels where no one would ask why one guy was red and one girl was blue, and why Erik was wearing that ridiculous helmet and get-up that made him look like he had just come back from a more futuristic Sparta.

Wriggling uncomfortably, Erik thought of his home back in Germany for the first time since that day he started the road trip with Charles. He almost had to laugh at the realization. Charles made him completely forget about his troubles, and make him happy. Now, in this dingy, dimly-lit room, Erik felt uncomfortable and alone. He missed his home, and this certainly didn't suffice as much as Charles' roomy and inviting mansion had.

It wasn't just the mansion, either. The warm smiles, the loving nudges, the friendly games of chess, it all so _strongly reminded him of life before World War II, before Schmidt, and before his anger. He felt appreciated for the first time since his mother told him how much she loved him, since his father told him how proud of him he was. Charles didn't even need to say it out loud; he just needed to look at him with those adoring blue eyes, and a fire would ignite in Erik's stomach unlike anything he ever felt before, and his knees would feel weak, and his eyes would feel heavy…_

_Erik took it back. Charles didn't make him forget him about home, he made him feel like he had never left._

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><p><em>I decided this story is going to be a little longer than anticipated... I don't know if this is good news or bad news for you guys, but I have new material that I want to put in it now, so... more chapters to come!<em>


	8. Chapter VIII

_Sorry it took me so long to update! Call it my Christmas break._

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><p>Erik wasn't exactly sure what he was doing. He has never gotten this much public attention before. He had always stood under the radar, unseen. Now all of a sudden his face was on television sets all over the world, a "domestic terrorist" he had been called. No, it was never his plan to become a terrorist. He just wanted to be accepted, and he knew the human race was never going to accept that. They weren't capable of it, it was evident throughout history. One race dominates the other, slavery, war, dictatorship ensues. It has happened in Rome, in Africa, in America itself during the Civil War, and it has happened in World War II.<p>

Erik winced as he shifted his arm out from under him in the position he was lying in his bed and pulled up his sleeve. The numbers were still there, permanently staining his skin with the memories of his childhood. He absent-mindedly rubbed his thumb over the markings, reading them over and over again. He could practically read them in his sleep, he had memorized them so long ago.

He closed his eyes and the numbers still flashed behind his eyelids. He couldn't escape. Shaw's face floated to the surface of his mind: a face he couldn't forget. It had continuously haunted him, and it seemed especially so today, on the six month anniversary of the Cuba mission that had gone horribly astray.

_Six whole months and I'm still aching for Charles._

It seemed so long ago, yet it was such a short time for all Erik had accomplished in that time. He had already harassed major governments around the world, gave them ultimatums, and followed through with those ultimatums when every single one of them without fail ignored his warnings. They were relatively minor threats, but he was taken seriously now. The public feared his face, and feared mutants in general. He was giving Charles a hard time, he knew. Frost had informed him that the government tried to take custody of the impressive school he had been building: _Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters_, he called it. Not even his smooth-talking could fix the situation, and he ultimately had to end up using his mind powers to mend the situation, which he had to resort to increasingly lately, much to his dismay. Erik vaguely felt bad for him, but he was too consumed in his own self-hatred to be too bothered by it.

He remembered back to the concentration camps, when his life had been very similar. It was always take-care-of-yourself-and-no-one-else there. It was an easy enough rule to follow; the fools who weren't capable of this died. Only the strongest could survive. So when Erik saw a comrade fall beside him and did not help him up, or if he had to hide behind an old man in line so that he could be taken to the showers and not himself, or if he stepped over a dying little girl in the morning before heading off to work, he had to swallow his remorse. He simply could not afford to feel guilty. Here, it felt very similar. He could not afford to feel bad for Charles or any of the human lives that were lost during his revolution. If he did for a split second, then everything he worked for in the past six months would be for naught, and he would most surely be killed on sight. No, he couldn't take back what he had done. He was living in a dog-eat-dog world.

He laid his head back in his pillow, trying to reassure himself that he was doing the right thing by listing all the things that differentiated himself from Hitler and Shaw.

There wasn't that much.

Maybe he _was _a terrorist, after all.

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><p>The next month, Erik was faced with all of Charles' hard work for the past seven months all at once. In the middle of a civil meeting with the FBI that had gone awry, Erik found himself face-to-face with the entirety of Xavier's School's student body, ready to show him what Charles had been teaching him.<p>

He was in the midst of a horrific mutant battle, all of his recruits fighting viciously to the death against the self-righteous band of students summoned by Charles. The air was cloudy, the dirt of the surrounding area kicked up during the battle. Pedestrians had long since cleared from the open city area, screaming and running to their houses once the fighting began. The FBI was fighting, too, trying to break it up, not caring who they were aiming at. They were picking no sides, they wanted all mutants dead anyways.

It seemed as if hundreds of mutants had gathered in this once condensed portion of the city and were now fighting for their cause. Tensions between the two sides of mutant-kind had been pent up until now, and it was only a matter of time before one side took the first punch. Erik had been ignoring it for the courtesy of Charles, and also the fear of approaching him, but it seemed the other man had no such qualms.

All around, he saw the most amazing mutations surrounding him. One girl was lifting outrageously heavy objects and chucking them at her attackers like they were nothing but dominoes. One boy had eight appendages, like he was a spider. There was another who would breathe on people and they would turn to stone. Another could _become_ liquid and seep into the floor only to reappear moments later to attack. He saw some deaths, but not too many. He even saw some old colleagues: Beast, Banshee, and Havok. He knew Mystique and Angel had seen them too. But no sign of 'Professor X,' as he was now called.

He ducked and lashed metal around at nearby attackers; he was obviously the main target. Most of them migrated to him when they saw him, and if not, they were fighting others to get to him. If he was killed, his followers would be leaderless and unorganized, at least for a short while in which they could be attacked again while they were weak.

There were plenty of close calls, and Erik swallowed his panic at the increasing amount of opponents he faced. His adrenaline kept him alert, but for how long?

"Get away, leave him to me!" he heard a familiar growl, and the students obeyed. It gave him enough time to look up at his obviously respected opponent, and he was met with no surprise when he found himself facing a gigantic, furry blue creature.

"Hello, Beast," he greeted amiably.

Beast growled and lunged at him. He summoned scraps of metal to armor himself and he raised metal-covered hands to meet clawed ones as the two began to wrestle to throw one another to the floor. Their faces were inches apart, and Beast took the opportunity to take out his pent up frustration on Erik.

"You _traitor!_" he spat. "You betrayed us! How could you?"

Erik laughed, "You are too naïve to think of the world as accepting. I am doing you all a favor in the long run."

He pushed forward with all his strength and summoned the metal forward as well so that Beast stumbled back a few inches, but he was immediately back again, body shaking with exertion, trying to push Erik the other way. It was like a backwards tug-of-war.

"You are not helping anyone! You are only harming innocent people! Charles hates it; how could you do this to him? How can you look your best friend in the eyes, and then leave him stranded on the beach? How can someone with any amount of emotion do that?"

Erik tried not to let the words sting.

"So that's what it's really about, isn't it?" he asked, trying to keep a cold composure. "It's not about what I am doing now. It's all about Charles, isn't it?"

"He was… he was just so _lost _without you, Magneto," Beast's voice faltered, and his face unscrewed. Erik was caught of guard, and he stopped pushing so hard. He would have toppled over, if it hadn't been that Beast had loosened his grip also. Beast leaned in towards his ear so that he could hear his whispers over the roar of the crowd around them. "We didn't know what to do. The American ships took us in and brought him to a hospital, luckily, but it was too late. Charles was paralyzed. And he had to wipe all their minds later, because they were going to take us all into custody, and that took all the energy out of him for a long time, because he was still recovering."

Erik and Beast had completely stopped fighting now. Beast's hands were on Erik's shoulders, and he was whispering into his ear, and Erik's hands were at his sides, his fists clenches so tight that his nails were hurting his palms. He felt himself shaking. He didn't want to hear this, yet he couldn't pull away.

"He never smiled," Beast continued. "It concerned all of us, and we tried to help him, but he would spend all of his days just staring at the satellite dish outside the window. One day Moira and he went out for a walk, and only he came back inside. He told us it was for the better, and that she was safer that way. We don't know exactly what happened that day."

Erik nodded, a painful sort of relief flooded through him. He had a theory that Charles and Moira may have started a relationship in his wake. They had always seemed so close, and the thought made Erik peculiarly jealous.

"He had to do physical therapy, and he hated it. The whole house had to be changed around so that he could get around easily in his wheelchair. There are just so many things he can't do anymore… so many things you don't even think about until you have to live without them. He was so _sad_. He told us all he was fine, but he wasn't. And he never mentioned you, not once. We could all tell he was trying to forget you, but he was failing. He just missed you so much. He went to bed early everyday and if you walked by his bedroom door you could hear crying. No one ever went in, none of us wanted to face the wrath of a telepath," Beast snorted humorously at this. "But through it all he still was managing a school. He is so strong, Magneto, but even he can be broken. And, I think, you cracked him a little. He's not quite the same anymore. He worries more, and he's more diligent, more cautious. He over-exerts himself; he spends too much time with Cerebro, recruiting mutants, and not enough time taking care of himself."

Erik swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut.

_No guilt, no guilt, no guilt._

"He's keeping himself busy, _Erik," _Beast stressed, reminding him of his real name, his real identity, the one he hasn't heard of since Cuba. "He's trying to forget. But he's killing himself doing it. And it's not working. If he keeps this up, something bad is going to happen to him. I just want you to know what you did to him."

Erik jerked away, hearing enough. Beast was pulling on his heartstrings, trying to get him to sympathize so that he would relent. But he wouldn't do that, he couldn't. He glared at the younger man with steel eyes, but he was returned with pleading ones.

_Come back_, he mouthed, before he turned to the mass of fighting mutants.

"RETREAT!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs, his voice just as giant as his frame. It echoed throughout the city, and reverberated off of buildings, so that it was impossible for any mutants not to hear. The fighting was diminished in a second, heads turning to face him. He growled loudly, eyes spanning the crowd, and in seconds all of Charles' followers came toward him, like a herd of sheep, and in an instant, they were all gone. They must have had a teleporter as well.

Erik gaped, not sure what to do. The fighting with the FBI continued until he, too, decided to retreat.

Back at the headquarters, he collapsed onto his bed and refused any confrontations. For weeks after, his followers sat around, bored with nothing to do, waiting for their orders.

But Erik had none.

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><p>Beast's words echoed in Erik's head for weeks, and he was unable to erase them from his memory.<p>

_He was… he was just so lost without you._

He rubbed his eyes furiously, trying to rid himself of the guilt that had seeped through his system.

_He was so sad. He told us all he was fine, but he wasn't._

That was classic Charles, always trying to comfort other people even when he was the one that needed comforting. But Erik couldn't dwell on it, so he angrily stabbed his eggs and continued eating breakfast.

_He just missed you so much. _

He received curious stares from his peers as he took his frustration out on his breakfast, so he threw his napkin on the table and pushed his chair back. He got up and hastily retreated to the silence of his bedroom.

_He went to bed early everyday and if you walked by his bedroom door you could hear crying. _

"No, no, no, stop thinking about this!" he chastised himself, banging on his helmet, which hurt his knuckles and caused his ears to ring with the loud noises it made.

_There are just so many things he can't do anymore… so many things you don't even think about until you have to live without them. _

"I did this to him," he sobbed, his emotions finally getting the better of him. He felt the tears pour down his face, and he hated each and every one of them. "Oh god, I did this to him!"

_He is so strong, Magneto, but even he can be broken. And, I think, you cracked him a little._

"I'm sorry, Charles, I'm sorry!" he screamed to no one, curling up on his bed like a child. "I never meant to hurt anyone! What am I doing here?"

He looked around his bedroom, and despised everything. He despised it simply because it was not his familiar bedroom in Charles' mansion. He realized with a start that when he thought of home, he didn't think of the small hut with his mother and father in Germany anymore. He thought of the comfortable and overly-expensive luxury guest room at Charles' mansion, so large and warm, and Charles just right across the hall…

In fact, he couldn't really remember what his old house looked like anymore. Just Charles' house.

_He's trying to forget. But he's killing himself doing it. _

And so help Erik if he wasn't doing the same thing. He jumped off the bed, a new kind of determination coursing through his veins. He didn't want this, no, he couldn't want this anymore. It just didn't feel right. He was becoming exactly like Shaw, and he saw that with such clarity now. He was a fool, a damned fool to leave Charles and everything he ever loved behind for his own delusions, his own pessimistic views of the world. But he needed to stop. He needed Charles with such a vicious desire that it was eating him alive. Everything he had been doing for the past eight months, every step he took, it was all with Charles in mind. _What would Charles think of me now? How will Charles react to this? I hope Charles doesn't hate me for this. _It was all about Charles, the whole way through. Why it took a bloody battle and the hard truth from Beast's mouth for him to understand, he did not know. In fact, he wasn't sure if he knew much about anything anymore. But he knew one thing for sure:

He was going to get Charles back.

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><p><em>One word: FINALLY.<em>


	9. Chapter IX

And so that is how Erik ended up on the side of the road at three in the afternoon in the pouring rain. He clutched his two suitcases by his side protectively and stepped out of the cab, preparing himself for the storm outside. He dragged himself through the mud and reached the front door of the Xavier estate, suddenly feeling unsure of himself.

But he couldn't turn back, no. That was no longer an option.

"_Magneto, what are you doing?" Frost asked, entering his room silently._

_Erik jumped slightly at her voice, not noticing her entering the room. It was right after breakfast, and he had slipped right into his quarters without a word and had stayed in there for a good hour without leaving once. _

"_The better question, Frost," Erik asked, sounding calm to cover up his shock when she entered the room, stepping obviously in front of his luggage pile. "Is what are you doing?"_

_Frost squinted at him, then sighed._

"_I really do hate that helmet," she shrugged as she glided forward to perch on the edge of his bed. "But even without telepathy, it's pretty clear to understand what you are doing."_

_Erik gave up and sat down. Frost was sharp, there was no mistaking._

"_You're escaping," she voiced. "I figured it would only be a matter of time. Yours and Charles' minds were too melded together to ever be separated."_

_Erik was speechless._

"_Are… are you going to try to stop me?"_

_Emma laughed gingerly and shook her head._

"_No, no, of course not. I know how to pick my battles, Magneto. I know I'm no match against you so long as you keep that idiotic helmet on. I'll let you go, but understand this, your absence makes me the next leader. I will not fail as you and Shaw have. I will lead my fellow mutants into a new nation."_

_Erik nodded and leaned down to kiss her forehead._

"_You are truly magnificent. I wish you luck on your endeavors."_

_Emma nodded and bit her lip, her mood suddenly changing._

"_Just, don't get yourself killed by one of our own, okay? I would hate for that to happen."_

"_Wouldn't it be worse to get killed by an ordinary human?" Erik laughed._

_Emma looked distraught, a look that didn't suit her well._

"_You… treated me well. Much better than Shaw, anyways. With you, I always felt equal. So…"_

_She struggled with her words, not fully understanding how to display appreciation or kindness._

'_Thank… thank you, I guess."_

_Erik smiled endearingly. Oh, he would miss his trusted advisor. With one squeeze of her shoulder, he finished packing his belongings and was out the door in a flash. He left without saying goodbye; he seemed to always skip those parts. He hated endings._

_Frost maintained the decency to protect Erik from the eyes of his… old… followers until he evacuated the vicinity, where he then hopped into a cab and directed the cabbie straight to the Xavier estate._

And now Erik felt doubt. Doubt and regret and fear and pain… standing on the top step of the Xavier household. He hadn't seen Charles in eight months… and he hadn't ever seen him in a wheelchair. He hadn't seen him at all since he was laying bloody in the sand, possibly dying. He wasn't sure what he should even prepare himself for. Would he be welcomed? Would he be turned away? Would they fight him? Alone, Erik surely could not win. He did not know how many recruits Charles had gained since he left him, but he was estimating it was a lot. If how long Beast had said Charles spent in Cerebro was anything to go by, Erik guessed there would be dozens.

Slowly, he raised his hand to knock on the ornate double doors. The sound seemed to reverberate through the metal of his helmet, which he still kept securely on his head, afraid of what may happen if he were to take it off. It had become a sort of safety blanket to him, and taking it off most surely meant doom.

The door opened, and Erik was met with an unfamiliar face. It was a girl, and she had soft features, a round face, and dark brunette hair. She looked to be no older than 18. He was caught off guard, half-expecting Charles to be the one to answer the door. But of course it wasn't, he would be too busy to greet guests, and he doubted they had many anyways.

A look of terror seized the girl's features, and she screamed, and suddenly he felt _cold_. So, _so_ cold and he thinks he collapsed, because he couldn't feel the ground underneath his feet anymore. He gasped and shouted but the cold numbness wouldn't go away, and his vision started to blur, then to fade, and he vaguely thought, _'Well, this sucks…'_

"Tundra! Tundra, stop it right now!" he heard the familiar growl that had been haunting his memories, and he didn't think he'd ever been so happy to hear it as he did now.

All of a sudden the cold was gone, and Erik's vision as well as his sense was back, and he stared in awe as his skin started to turn from pearly white to its normal tan shade.

"Beast!" she exclaimed furiously, in a thick accent. "This is Magneto, our enemy! We cannot allow him to pass through these doors, Professor X would not be pleased!"

"It's alright, Tundra," Beast gave her a pat on the back. "He's my guest. You may leave."

Tundra narrowed her eyes at Beast, then turned to glare at Erik. She was clearly confused, and determined to do her duty to Charles, but Beast was respected around here, and she relented, brusquely walking away.

"Sorry about that," Beast apologized, offering Erik a small smile and pushing his glasses up. "Some of the new recruits are a bit… edgy. Your name is everywhere now, and they've had such tough lives… Charles really relates to them, you know? He inspires them all, they just want to help him so badly."

Erik nodded curtly, his throat closing in but he wouldn't let himself show any emotion… not yet.

"Anyways, I was hoping you would come," Beast shuffled him in, and he could hear the sounds of life filling the mansion. "We need you. I knew the face we were seeing in the news, the destruction you were causing… _Magneto_ wasn't the real you. I just wish it didn't take you so long to realize that. I wish you realized it all along."

The _'me too' _wasn't said aloud but it was implied.

"Is… is Charles home?" Erik asked, surprised at how broken his voice sounded.

Beast nodded and shifted his weight, "Of course he's home. He never leaves. The trouble is finding exactly where in this gigantic mansion. Hmmm, let's see…"

Beast looked around in mock-pondering, and Erik had to smile at how easily he seemed to accept him back, like he hadn't completely screwed up the last eight months.

"He could either be in the library reading about genetic mutation and depriving his body of its daily needs, staring out the window in the West Corridor at the satellite and missing you more than you deserve, training with some of the recruits out in the courtyard and putting himself in mortal peril, or sitting in his room wallowing in self-pity."

He looked up at Erik and arched an eyebrow.

"That's a lot of options. Which would you like to try first?"

Erik shrugged, slightly amused.

"Well, I have an idea! How about you take that stupid helmet off and let him know a guest has arrived? Maybe _he'll_ find _you_."

Erik felt a bundle of nerves knot up in his stomach and he backed up a few steps.

"What? No, _no_ I couldn't! I mean… I can't. It's… it's…"

"Erik," Beast looked at him all-knowingly. "I'm no fashion police, but that get-up makes you look like a drag queen that reads too many comic books. Never mind the helmet, please, just change _everything_."

Erik was half-embarrassed and half-insulted.

"Come here," Beast urged him on. "There's some extra clothes in the closet in the empty guest room. _Something's_ bound to fit you. You just can't meet Charles like _this_."

Erik dutifully followed him, half because he wasn't sure how else to react, and half because if he was being honest, he didn't want Charles to see him like this either. He didn't want to be Magneto anymore.

Beast ushered him into the walk-in closet and closed the door behind him.

"Pick anything you want," he shouted after him. "Anything's better than what you're wearing now!"

Erik confusedly dug through the vast amount of clothes stored in the extra closet. Most of it was Charles' old clothes, that would certainly not fit him, and some of it was even some of Mystique's clothes. Erik's heart sank, wondering how she was doing right now. If she knew he had abandoned her yet…

Something caught Erik's eye, and with surprise he grabbed for it. He stared at the black turtleneck in astonishment, recognizing it as his own.

_He kept this…_

He immediately removed his Magneto garb and pulled it over his head, the tight fit feeling familiar and comforting, like he had gained a piece of _Erik_ back. He located a pair of pants that also used to belong to him and put them on as well, along with a pair of his old shoes.

_He kept all my stuff… _

Erik was way happier about this than he should have been.

He looked at himself in the full length mirror and stood proudly, recognizing his reflection more than he had in eight months.

There was still one thing off.

The helmet.

Erik sighed, panic seizing his chest. He reached for it but faltered. He had grown so accustomed to wearing it, he didn't even feel it anymore. He even slept with it on. He was afraid he would feel unsafe and vulnerable when he took it off, as well as incomplete.

But goddamn it if he didn't feel incomplete without the familiar feeling of Charles buzzing through his mind, either. And he came here expecting his trust. How could he gain it without giving a little away himself?

He gripped the helmet tightly and clenched his teeth.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to no one in particular and he screwed his eyes up and lifted it.

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><p><em>If anyone's worried about this becoming OC-infested with the new recruits, don't worry. I'm not a fan of OC's myself and Tundra was just thrown in there to show that there WERE new recruits and also I wanted Erik to be greeted by someone he doesn't know. She will probably never be mentioned again, and the new recruits will only ever be mentioned in passing. I won't focus on them, simply because I just want to focus on the real X-men. The only reason they're here also is because at this point the X-men from the older movies were probably too young to join them, and clearly Wolverine is not interested yet, so... uncannon ones it is. <em>


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